Tactical Gambit
by Clio S.S
Summary: Because we all missed their reunion in SB2 - we missed it completely, didn't we? - and because ToraKetsu inspired me with her story. This silly text is therefore dedicated to her, be it worth or not. But, be sure to read HER Between Love and Lies anyway!


They met like so many times before - on the battlefield where grass was dishevelled by the wind and hoofs of the horses. The cold blue of the sky would never match the cold blue of Date Masamune's gaze, and the flaming glare of the sun had no chance against the exact flaming glare of Sanada Yukimura - once their eyes had found each other. Date Army, faithful, unusually silent and focused on their duel, awaited Katakura Kojūrō's sign to, believing in victory, rush and charge on two eternal rivals. There, Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin were waging yet another battle, from time to time distracting themselves to look at the magnificence of youth, smiling more or less mysteriously. Sasuke and Kasuga participated in their lords' battle equally passionate, although in their case it was equally hard to tell where the line between duty and pleasure went.

The wind was carrying the redness of Yukimura's headband, as well as the autumn brown of his hair, and ruffling what it managed to grasp from under Masamune's crescent moon helmet. Masamune drew all of his six claws; Yukimura adjusted his stance to easily defend himself and easily attack. His fangs glistened in the sunlight, as if warningly, but the One-Eyed Dragon never needed any warnings - closing in, step by step, and keeping his eye on the Tiger, whose muscles were getting more tense with every passing moment. He was ready to jump, any second, but the previous encounters with this particular rival had taught him not to rush blindly forward but look for an opportunity, if he wanted to end victorious. Sasuke would tell his master had finally started to use his brain, and then he would shake his head - be it in disbelief or with that specific sadness accompanying the realization of the fact that everything changed. Yukimura moved his right foot _a blade of grass_ aside, lifted his left spear _a move of butterfly_ up... and waited for the fraction of a right second - to attack and never let the opponent defend himself.

Masamune was drawing closer, still step by step, never taking his only eye off the flaming fire before him, absorbing every detail he could see: straight ahead, with the absolute sharpness of a pupil - the face of the warrior of Kai, hair floating around, the eyes so dark they seemed black; in the corner - his firm grasp on the shafts, the muscles of his body, tense and ready to fly forward any moment, and steady footing supporting him during any kind of attack. Sanada Yukimura was the embodiment of perfection, here and now, on the field of battle that was yet to start, focused beyond every limits on him and him only - which was mutual. The One-Eyed Dragon couldn't stand a chance, could he?

Yukimura kept looking until - momentarily - he felt as if there was nothing but eyes left of him. Momentarily, he didn't feel his body, even though, only the previous second, he had been aware of every single fibre of his extremities. He knew, however, that getting distracted would mean his immediate defeat, so he was focused again, like never before, and determined not to submit - not to the One-Eyed Dragon - which would be as bitter as sweet. He felt a treacherous sweat-drop on his temple and, involuntarily, tightened his grip on the spears upon seeing that Masamune's thin lips stretched - as if the Lord of Ōshū had already known the outcome of this battle. He forced his eyes off this deluding smile and looked higher, straight in the eye under the mop of soft hair - meeting the gaze always as cool and calm as ice, and only the brief flash that sometimes happened to move over the surface made it possible to believe that, below the ice, there was the same flame which set Yukimura ablaze. Despite the wind fiercely caressing his neck, Yukimura felt hair rise all over his body - and was even able to convince himself it was out of his excitement. He swallowed.

And then it seemed the time itself stopped.

The One-Eyed Dragon let go of his all six claws, without as much as looking when they bite the soft ground of the hill, and, in the next moment, he's already beyond the grasp of Tiger's fangs, standing next to him and reaching to him. Yukimura is too stupefied by the sight of the discarded swords to raise his spears, when Masamune's hands crawl onto his neck already, and his thin lips, still stretched in distressing smile, are already on his lips. Yukimura's astonished mind needs more time to react, but his body acts on his own accord and out of instincts. He let go of his spears, not even because they won't be of use for him any more - this thought will occur to him later - but because, gripping them, he can't embrace the One-Eyed Dragon, which he wants to do more than anything else in the world. Before he realizes, before the spears hit the ground with the dull thud, his fingers are already crumpling the blue fabric on Masamune's back and then press his head closer, as if they wanted to squash it - closer into this kiss, closer into this stunning closeness, until there's nothing left between them, and Yukimura is under the impression they are one, a unity.

* * *

"Hi-Hittō...?"

"Hittō...!"

"Hittō!"

Screams of soldiers got Kojūrō out of the trance he had gone into some while ago. Timid and unbelieving, at first, surprised and shocked, and then louder and louder - cheers for the battle, so well known in Date Army. Well, warriors of Ōshū considered a battle everything that included their lord - no wonder that now the whole squad was already chanting in honour of their commander. Not that he needed any encouraging. Probably, he didn't even hear them... Kojūrō turned to the people with a crooked smile.

"Okay men, move along, nothing to see here."

"But..."

"Katakura-sama...!"

"Pitch a camp. We're putting up here. A tent for Masamune-sama that way, by the forest. You are staying on the other side of the hill."

"But... Katakura-sama...?"

"Well, say it already."

"Masamune-sama is..."

"Winning?"

Kojūrō hid his amusement behind the stern look.

"Have you ever seen Masamune-sama losing?"

* * *

"I won again," Masamune said, satisfied, pulling the fur blanket up to his ears, long after they had managed to calm their breaths, and the realization of what they had done didn't seem so abstract any more.

"With all due respect, Masamune-dono, you had dropped your swords before I dropped my spears!" Yukimura called, evidently indignant. Or perhaps not. He always sounded like this.

"It was a tactical gambit," Masamune clarified, still smug, burying himself in the bed. October nights used to be very cold, but he hoped he wouldn't catch cold.

Yukimura only sat for a moment, sulking, then suddenly leaned over and kissed him. Masamune noticed the tremble of the hands of warrior of Kai, pressing him down - but it didn't matter. He held back a moan when Yukimura broke away and looked down at him.

"This... was a tactical gambit as well?" he asked a bit offended despite the blush on his cheeks.

"This," the Lord of Ōshū answered, reaching and touching Yukimura's face with unusual tenderness, "was a result of a tactics."

They regarded each other for a while. Yukimura averted his eyes first. The strand of soft hair brushed against Masamune's cheek and nose. He didn't manage to muffle the sneeze and prepared himself to hear Kojūrō's comment from outside. Somehow, Kojūrō's devotion missed to harmonize with respect for Masamune's privacy, he thought mockingly. But, Kojūrō must have taken care of the discarded arms, he added with a pang of guilt.

Yukimura slid under the fur and pressed closer. "I admit your victory," he said reluctantly, although he didn't particularly seem like offering himself as a prize for a winner.

Masamune embraced him, feeling all the protruding ribs and shoulder blades. It occurred to him suddenly that the warrior of Kai must have been immune to cold after he run half-naked for the most of the year...

"I'm going to take my revenge tomorrow, so don't you dare catch a cold," Yukimura warned, although it remained unclear whether he referred to the battle or other activities.

It didn't change the fact the runny nose would seriously interfere with either. Masamune smiled, pulling Yukimura closer and warming himself already with the sound of his voice: full of embarrassing yet honest concern. Unnecessarily. Holding a living flame in his arms, Date Masamune didn't need to fear the cold.

He might fear burning - but no sooner than tomorrow.


End file.
